


unintentional healing

by yuigen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Injury, Body Horror, F/M, It's minor but better safe than sorry, Unbeta'd by Arryu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 00:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuigen/pseuds/yuigen
Summary: Roses taste bitter. - aradia/gamzee





	unintentional healing

It started with a petal.

Its red – much to your disdain – and soft to the touch – like velvet – but it’s none too kind to your meal tunnel as you cough it up. It’s glistening in your own DNA on the palm of your hand and you’re tempted to smell it. But you already know how you smell and this ain’t no fucking dream.

Haven’t had a dream in an eternity.

You let it slide off of you to the ground where you crush it beneath your shoe, not satisfied until it's in pieces. The wheres, hows, and whys accumulate in your thinkpan, but you dismiss them with who gives a flying fuck. It’s just a petal that you might have swallowed, no biggie.

Or at least, that’s how you reassured yourself until the next one came through.

Two, three, four, five.

Six, seven, eight, nine.

Your name is GAMZEE MAKARA and one day, you bloomed a rose.

* * *

Aradia is all sorts of concerned, seeing how pale you’ve gotten since the flowers decided they’ve had enough of the clown. She has you pulled into one of her otherworldly realms – a phenomenon you didn’t think anyone had – and has you on your ass on a flat rock next to a bumbling stream. Her calloused hands are at work, feeling up your face and pulse, checking for any abnormalities.

“Sorry to disappoint, sis, but I’m a walking aberration,” you muse lowly, smiling as she checks that little mouth stick one more time. Her maroon eyes – that shit color that only she could wear best – slide to meet yours as her lips softly curled.

“I wouldn’t say that. Unique sounds prettier.”

“Does this mother fucker got his prettiness?”

A finger presses against the tip of your nose as she hums in agreement.

She’s radiating warmth onto your cold nub through a singular touch, and you get the faintest of nudges from your pan to tilt your face. And in doing so, her pad slides down to your lips. It’s warmer now and she makes no sign of moving away

If anything, girl’s got her smile wider.

“What be the diagnosis?” you mumble against her.

Maybe you spoke too soon. A bit of the light dims out. “Honestly, I don’t know. Your temperature is regulated and your vitals are quote-on-quote, healthy, but –" she quirks her mouth to a side, “you know you’re not looking too hot.”

“Thought I was pretty.” That earns a bit of pressure to your lips.

“You know what I mean!”

You chuckle softly. “I know, baby girl, I know.”

Her light’s wavering between the jokes and the situation. It’s not really hitting your pan that there’s a possibility you might be dying – you’ve eaten bullets before – so you’re not understanding why she’s got her worry on.

You’re not understanding why anyone would.

“What kind of condition makes you throw up flowers anyways? It sounds so…so made up.” She finally decides to retreat her touch and when she does so, it leaves a lingering heat behind. A heat that turns the faint ripples in you into waves.

And you feel something festering deep within.

It’s beginning to move north.

You cup your palm underneath your chin as it crawls against the walls, and you’re not seeing her widened eyes or parted lips. She’s too caught up in the performance to say a word and you’re too busy putting on a show for her.

 A cacophony of grunts and gurgles come out of you like you’re some kind of damn instrument, and the pain’s even worse once you feel it peak from the horizon. And with one final heave, it slides right off your tongue, plopping onto your hands unceremoniously.

Pain? You can deal. The taste? Not so much.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. Your hearing ducts don’t catch a wind of emotions.

“Not as big as the others, but the kid’s alright,” you croaked as you lowered your hands to a level where she can see it too.

And her face finally shifts into a shade of gloom, catching you off guard as she’s back to using her digit to touch it. Her maroon eyes are swimming in dismay. “It’s purple.”

You furrow your brows quizzically. “Roses ain’t purple, sis.”

“No!” She huffs, but she’s looking like she’s about to yak herself. “The rose, it’s covered in purple. Is that your blood?”

Oh. You glance down at the new company and you see it sitting in a puddle of your own color, droplets hanging onto the petals like morning dew. Now, this was a new act in itself; you’ve only had saliva-covered petals and roses before.

Doesn’t move your pusher in the slightest.

But she feels more than you could ever imagine. “You’re _dying_ , Gamzee.” She says this as if confirming to herself.

“Flowers ain’t gonna get a kill on me.” You’ve seen her sad before, but this was a whole new color she’s displaying.

“Do you not see your own blood!?” Her voice is reaching new highs.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Seen it more times than I can count.”

“And you’re just okay with it!?”

There’s an urgency in her voice, one that tickles the back of your head and stirs a once forgotten piece of you. One that, maybe just _maybe_ , had once cared whether he was going to die or not. But his voice is drowned away by a familiar sea and you remember that he can’t swim.

“Yeah,” is all you can offer.

Her shade of red invades the round of cheeks as brows furrow. And you get an unexpected visit from her fist to your arm. You honk in pain and narrow eyes at her. “What the mother fuck!?”

“What if it does? We might not have much time left.” Her frown drops to horror. She’s just cycling through now. “Oh my God, we’re just wasting time. I _knew_ I should have just taken you to the Kingdoms, but I didn’t want to put you at unease, but because of it, you’re going to die -”

And her words slur into sobs. And there's stars falling from her eyelashes.

You catch them with your sleeves as an arm snakes around her shoulders and brings her closer to you. She buries her face into your chest. And you bury your face into her locks.

The universe around you warps, almost as if accompanying your girl’s distress – gray blotches appear here and there on the canvas, and the wind picks up strength. The foliage surrounding you rustle.

And you hold the rose tightly like a lifeline.

* * *

Aradia’s all bundled up into a ball against you, her wings squishing in the hold, and you’re still at unease about it. She’s assured you after her session that it’s no big deal, it doesn’t hurt, but they’re miraculous little things and you’d hate to break her gift.

Since her sobs have subsided, the world relaxed once more – the clouds move away, allowing the moonlight to bathe the clearing. Trees are murmuring when the breeze comes by for the nth time again, but you can’t make out a word they’re saying. Maybe your girl’s got a clue.

But before you can ask, she utters her first words since the revelation. “I want to play a game.”

She’s quiet, voice devoid of all emotions – you look down at her and see she’s absentmindedly playing with the front of your shirt. You decide that this new look doesn’t suit the faerie at all. “Will it make you happy?”

A simple nod. You mimic her and she continues speaking in whispers, “It’s a game the humans play. There’s no real winner in it, but -” There’s a pause and you can practically see the gears in her head turning. “Just, could I see the flower?”

You blink in bewilderment. You don’t want her to break down again, but she’s asking for it, right? “Aight.” Your little buddy’s been settled beside you this whole time; the blood had dried on it since. You scoop it up and offer it to her, but she doesn’t take it. She stares at it like some wriggler would when it sees something new.

Not joy, not anger, not sadness – just thoughtful.

You see her hand move towards it and brush the tips against the wings. Does it several times until she’s found one much to her liking. Puts a gentle grip on it.

Then pulls the wing out.

“He loves me not.”

Your eyes widen. “Girl, what are you -”

“Now take one and pull it.”

Well, motherfuck. You have to withdraw your arm from around her, leaving her to sit up while you inspect the rose. It’s a while before your pan picks a fat one and tears it right off. “She loves me not.”

She shakes her head where black curls bounce. “You say she loves me. I say he loves me not.”

You clear your throat, disposing of any blockage that might get in the way, before repeating her. “She loves me.”

Another torn petal falls. “He loves me not.”

“She loves me.”

“He loves me not.”

And so it goes, red frond drifting to the ground between you two as you continue this game. You can your fingers stained with purple and she’s no exception to that. Doesn’t look bothered either as her smile remained undisturbed. She’s a mystery to you, her moods ever-changing and unpredictable.

But that’s what you liked about her.

There’s a pile now and the stub is holding a single petal now. It’s your turn and everyone, even the world, is holding their breath as you take a hold of it. Of course, you’re the only one who isn’t because your acid tract’s just buzzing with what seemed like flutterbeasts. You’re not understanding how they got there.

You’re slow to pluck it off. It falls on top of the pile. You expect it to topple the whole thing over, but it doesn’t. Not even when the breeze comes by.

“She loves me.”

Her lips curl upwards into something brighter than any star in the universe.

Much to your annoyance, more petals demanded to be released and you have to obey.

Little did you know, though, that that’d be the last of them.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the HADS valentine's day contest! i originally rushed the first version, but i was given more time to flesh it out, so thank you for that! i'll honestly never get sick of this couple lol.
> 
> anyways criticism is welcomed!


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